


marred skin and beating heart

by dietys



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Sweet, keith doesnt kno how to bandage wounds right, lance wont shut up or smt, sleep deprivation makes u do some Wild Things basically, they have a Gay Moment tm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:01:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietys/pseuds/dietys
Summary: “Nu-uh, if I did that then you won't ever learn how to actually do it. I swear to you, it's not that hard.”“I guess if someone like you can manage the--”“Don't even finish that sentence, Billy Ray Cyrus.” He snaps, finger pointing accusingly in his direction. If Keith wasn't so tired then he'd probably make a jab at him for that one, but with every second he's been standing here arguing with this stupid sharp shooter, his desire to literally just go to his bed and go into a sleeping coma heightens. Dangerously so.





	marred skin and beating heart

**Author's Note:**

> its 5 am pls just take this,

Patience yields focus.  

Patience yields focus, and hopefully, it can fucking yield some miracle for Keith not to break one of Lance's fingers or something. 

It's not like he didn't mind patching each other up on missions that were just a little too ruthless, a little too life-shattering. No, in fact, it's become a routine at this point. If he's not the one with a fountain of blood dripping outta his nose ( Which, unsurprisingly, is almost always him. ) Then he'll take the easy task of helping his team mates with their battle wounds. 

Note: Easy.  

It's easy, easy to innocently bicker and complain about events that happened in the mission with Pidge, shattered glasses and all. Easy to talk about lion mechanics and strategies with Hunk, who doesn't even flinch when Keith skims over multiple scrapes through genuine laughter. Easy to reassure Shiro that as long as they're a team, they'll continue to trudge on to victory ---- it works, well enough that the leader only pokes fun of his poorly bandaged appendages a few times.  

Hell, it's borderline therapeutic honestly.  

Shocker, though, because it's all simple unless it's Lance.   

Lance Lance Lance. 

Lance who, has moved his goddamn arm for the third time, and yeah maybe his temper wouldn't be rising if he'd maybe just shut his mouth for maybe like, three seconds. Lance who, apparently can't even sit still enough, manages to test his patience. 

“Keith, you totally did that on purpose!” He barks out ( God how does he have so much energy even after fighting for his life ? Ridiculous. ) and stubbornly tries to tug his arm back from Keiths hold, features screwed into dramatic, feigned hurt.  

“Well maybe if you didn't move so much, I wouldn't have spilled all the alcohol over you.” Which, wasn't entirely the truth; It's what he got for poking at his bruises last time they did this, and while 'patience yields focus' or what the fuck ever, it doesn't mean it yields maturity.  

He can hear Shiro's disapproving sigh in the back of his mind. 

Not that he pays any mind to that.  

With a reserved grunt, fingertips gingerly dab the soaked cotton ball over marred tan flesh, scrubbing away the matted blood swiftly.  

“Yeah yeah, sure thing, mullet.” Finally, finally, he mumbles. It's soft and low, like as if the exhaustion has finally caught up to him.  

Thank god.  

“Oh, like you're such an expert on this.” Incredulous tone lacks his signature bite, digging around the small med kit near for the wraps; Not his best work honestly, while Hunk or Shiro never really complain, ( Too kind for their own good, he thinks. ) Pidge insists that they're always sloppy, too loose that it comes undone or too tight that it practically cuts off blood circulation.  

In which, he's promptly said something along the lines of 'I lived in the dessert pidge, not a lot of action for me to even get hurt there.'  

He chooses to ignore her snort and flips her off. 

“Actually? I totally am, dude. I used to patch up my siblings back on earth, I'm a complete pro. Here,” He begins, motioning to Keiths own lacerated arm with new sparked insistence.  

It's instinct that causes Keith to do the opposite of what Lance says, instead settling to stare blankly at ocean blues, deadpanned.  

“Yeah, I don't think so. C'mon, I'm almost done. If you think it's shitty or whatever then just tell Shiro to fix it for you. “  

Exasperation blooms into the blue paladin's features, though he still manages to grin. Without any warning, he plucks the wrappings from Keith's grip and stands.  

Jesus Christ he's going to get a migraine at this point. 

“Nu-uh, if I did that then you won't ever learn how to actually do it. I swear to you, it's not that hard.”  

“I guess if someone like you can manage the--”  

“Don't even finish that sentence, Billy Ray Cyrus.” He snaps, finger pointing accusingly in his direction. If Keith wasn't so tired then he'd probably make a jab at him for that one, but with every second he's been standing here arguing with this stupid sharp shooter, his desire to literally just go to his bed and go into a sleeping coma heightens. Dangerously so.  

“Fuck -- Fine, just, hurry up. I don't know about you but I'm literally about to pass out in a minute.” And it's with tired reluctance broken that they switch places; Plopping himself down and silently stretching out his arm to Lance whom, eagerly begins his healing.  

It takes maybe a minute or two, but Keith soon comes to the conclusion that he'd rather die than to admit how soothing this actually feels. From the way Lance's fingers gingerly scrape off the dried blood that taints ivory skin with precision ( And with brows furrowed so cutely. ) To how he holds his arm like it's made of goddamn glass --- it's all contradicting to his usual stumbles and messy faults. Hell, if he wasn't so relaxed at this point, he'd find it pretty alarming if anything.  

But, thankfully, exhaustion weighs heavy in his bones, and that's enough for him to find some solace in his touch; Comfort in the way soft digits lightly skim over flesh that isn't even marred, as though ghosting his touch to set some ease.  

“See? You just apply enough pressure like this, and --- you tie it off right here! Voila, hows that feel, samurai ?” Infamous ego makes its grand appearance for the fifth time that day, albeit little weary.  

With pursed lips, Keith allows his gaze to skim over the neatly bandaged wound on the upper part of his arm with a sniff, nodding once, still swearing he can feel the lingering remains of Lances touch on his skin. 

“It's alright, I guess. Not comin' off or anything so.”  

Nice, really articulate.    

Like a puppy given a praise, Lance perks up slightly, brow quirking upwards. 

“And it's not going to anytime soon. Hold on, gotta do one more thing.”  

Keith blames his unguarded state at this point, and maybe a little irritated that he didn't pick up on the sudden taunting tone Lances voice does right at the end, because as soon as curiosity sparks, he feels the faintest brush of cupids bow against wrapped limb.  

Now, he didn't know there were a 'ways to wake Keith Kogane The Fuck Up' list, but if there was, this would've definitely been on the top three.   

With something acute to an ugly, quieter shriek, he wretches his arm away from the stupid culprit. The stupid fucking culprit whos only respond is booming laughter and flashed ivories. 

( He won't admit that heart beat races, nor that the flush that creeps its way to cheeks is anything caused by him. No, it's just really fucking hot here and he's probably still packing some adrenaline from their mission. Not that any of that will excuse the way gaze lingers far too long onto joyful expression Lance wears so easily. As if the very stars rivaled the way he shines when he's happy--- )  

Nope, not going there.  

Instead of swinging like he'd normally do, he huffs and sneers.  

All bark but no bite.   

“If you ever pull that shit again I swear to god,” He threatens vaguely, mind too scattered, too off guard to finish that sentence. 

It's enough for Lance to catch on though, considering that laughter has soon died down, only leaving a sort of victory smile plastered onto battered countenance.  

Stupid. He's so so so stupid. Even with a smile like that.  

“Told you so. Here, now do mine.”  

“I'm going to break your arm.”  

“God, and I'm the dramatic one ?”  

The whole 'count from one to ten' thing never really worked on Keith. Don't get him wrong, he's tried before, tried his best every time Shiro suggested it as a hopeful way to simmer down.  

He can only get to four before his patience runs off the tracks and he's either snapping back with words that bite or with a left hook. The best case scenario? Storming off to 'simmer down' in the training deck.  

This time, he only gets to three before he stands abruptly so, more angry at himself for not being angry enough at Lances stupid kiss, angry that he's blowing this whole thing out of proportion, and really fucking pissed that he's not asleep by now.  

So, with sharp tugs and forceful maneuvering, he shoves Lance onto the couch with a click of the tongue, ignoring his loud protests.  

He works in silence, movements a little too jerky at times, but he places the blame on sleep deprivation and numbed pain.  

And his heart that's still in his throat. He blames it on that too.   

Needless to say, by the time he's done, he honestly couldn't give a shit if it's perfect or dangling right off his arm because he's already aiming to walk to his room.  

“You're welcome, mullet.”  

Okay, on second thought.  

Already sleep deprived and out of it enough that once the idea passes through brain-dead mind, he chooses to act immediately rather than to give it a second thought; because lord knows if he does, he won't even let himself live it down.  

So it's with that brilliantly determined mindset that Keith pauses in mid step, completely turns back around to where Lance had just begun to follow suit to his own room, quickly tugs his arm forward and places a chaste kiss right in the center of freshly bandaged wound was.  

Familiar laughter is all that he hears once he high tails it back to his room, and a quick glance over his shoulder, flustered hue is all that he sees that night behind heavy lids. 

 


End file.
